


Prima Neve

by malmo



Series: L’ultimo Lupo [2]
Category: L'ultimo Terrestre (2011), L'ultimo Terrestre | The Last Man On Earth (2011), The Old Guard (Movie 2020), Wolf (2013)
Genre: Christmas, Crossover Pairings, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Holidays, It's Joe/Nicky if you squint, No one actually celebrates Christmas they just enjoy the sweets and decorations, Sex Work, The author does not miss holiday travel, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, but does miss restaurants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malmo/pseuds/malmo
Summary: Majid and Roberta’s romance is tested by old flames and family, but don't worry, not even the stress of holiday travel can tear these two apart.
Relationships: Majid/Roberta, Roberta/Majid
Series: L’ultimo Lupo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021534
Comments: 44
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! [Another beautiful post](https://maghrib-genova.tumblr.com/post/634215493055692800/marwan-kenzari-majid-in-wolf-and-luca-marinelli) by ririsasy has been providing my regular serotonin boost as we hurtle into winter, so why not check in on Majid and Roberta as they spend their first holiday season together? 
> 
> I was also inspired to continue this story by [ournextdoorneighbor's gorgeous artwork](https://ournextdoorneighbor.tumblr.com/post/633276657561681920/if-i-dont-post-this-now-im-not-gonna-stop-editing), so thank you!
> 
> Based on Marwan Kenzari's character Majid in Wolf and Luca Marinelli's character Roberta in L'ultimo Terrestre. Let's take two sad movies and give them a fluffy ending with snow and Christmas candy and deepening emotional intimacy, shall we?
> 
> TW for transphobic incidents involving airport security screening and Santa Claus.

Majid was skeptical about visiting a crowded Christmas market full of people on a Friday night, but Roberta was buzzing with excitement to take him to the famous Piazza Navona.

“When I was little, we used to take the train all the way to the city to visit it,” she said, as they breached the bustling crowd of holiday shoppers. “This was always my favorite part of Christmas. All the music and lights and smells and sounds, and so many people! Oh, it feels like the whole world is in Rome, doesn’t it?”

Majid couldn’t help but smile at her, even though the crowds unnerved him. It was rare that Roberta mentioned her childhood, rarer still a happy memory. Perhaps Christmas had that effect on her.

The streets of Rome were warm even though the winter sun had long since set, but without a hint of snow in the air, it was hard to believe it was December. Roberta’s eyes sparkled even more in the glittering lights of the market as she pulled Majid to her favorite stalls, chattering all the while.

He could barely remember life without her, even though it had barely been a year since they'd met, and only six months since a concussion had forced him to retire from fighting. His family had practically kicked in the door to his hospital room and demanded he return with them to Utrecht, only to find that he was perfectly happy with a girlfriend who was nothing like what they had ever expected.

His parents had only relented when he told them he would die if he went back to Utrecht, and would rather die than leave Roberta. Baba had scoffed and cursed him but Mama had seen the tears in Majid's eyes as he told them how Roberta had cared for him through his injuries. Not only did she talk Baba down, he even agreed to let Tarik spend his school holidays in Italy with Majid and Roberta.

They’d sent him back to Utrecht a few pounds heavier and with an easier smile, and ever since Majid had been on friendlier terms with his family. He answered his mother’s calls now, with an occasional frosty exchange with Baba if Mama had to step away from the phone. And while he used to ignore his little brother’s texts, unable to take the stab of pain at the reminder that he’d abandoned his family, now he and Roberta had a group text with Tarik, where Majid sent Tarik pictures of unique pastries and desserts he saw throughout Rome, Tarik asked Roberta for help with his English homework, and they both teased Majid for his low standards for movies.

“Oh, Tarik would love these,” said Roberta, stopping at a stall packed with rainbow colored candy that made Majid’s teeth hurt just to look at them.

A group of young men in hoodies brushed past, just a little too close, and he instinctively gripped Roberta's waist and clenched his teeth. Majid knew them instantly—their hunched shoulders and set jaws working overtime to make them seem tougher than they really were, their grey hoodies obscuring their faces and the fact that they were just terrified little boys wearing glowering masks because that was what the world both expected and demanded of them.

Majid’s stomach twisted with both repulsion and aching sadness. He had been those boys, not that long ago. 

“ _Va bene, tesoro_?” said Roberta. One of the boys perked up, perhaps in surprise at the sound of Roberta’s deeper voice. Majid met his eyes and glared at him. The boy’s glance shot downward and he stumbled off to follow his friends.

 _Il Lupo_ was retired, but the wolf still rumbled just below the surface of Majid’s skin.

“Majid?” said Roberta.

“I’m fine, love,” said Majid. “There’s just a lot of people here.”

“Do you want to leave?” said Roberta.

“Of course not,” said Majid, forcing a smile. “Let’s buy this candy to send to Tarik. I don’t think he had enough sugar when he stayed with us.”

Roberta chuckled and leaned into his shoulder. Majid looked around for anyone who might be staring at them, then allowed himself to press a quick kiss to her head.

In those first few glowing months of their relationship, Majid hadn’t cared what anyone said or thought about Roberta or that they were together. But now anxiety nagged at his mind when they were somewhere unfamiliar, or in a large crowd, or in the presence of young men who looked like him—aching for a fight just to feel some semblance of power.

He was by no means out of shape, but he wasn’t as fast as he was when he trained non-stop from dawn to dusk. His muscles were mostly intact thanks to the heavy labor of his new construction job, but on some days his knees hurt, others his shoulders, especially his right one. The only thing that soothed it was lying against Roberta’s chest on the couch while she gently rubbed the tightness out of each muscle, whispering jokes in his ear about whatever silly action movie he’d picked that made him shake with laughter until he turned in her arms and kissed her senseless.

They rarely watched movies all the way to the end.

But still, the more time he spent with Roberta, the more he feared losing her, not being able to protect her. The more he saw judging eyes with glints of possible violence.

“Aren’t the lights beautiful?” sighed Roberta. “Like a painting.”

“All it needs is snow,” said Majid. “At Utrecht’s Christmas market, it’s always snowing.”

“I’ve never seen snow,” said Roberta. “You’ll have to take me someday.”

Majid smiled tightly, and as much as he yearned to see Roberta’s eyes sparkle in snowfall, he could never return to Utrecht. And certainly not with Roberta.


	2. Chapter 2

Majid was relieved that they were meeting Roberta’s friend Luca at Luca’s favorite bar, which he loved only because no one else in Rome did. “The food is terrible, the wine is barely drinkable, but there’s no loud conversations or blasting music,” Roberta explained. “And they have these tall booths so you can’t see anyone else. No wonder Luca loves it. He can pretend he’s back in his mother’s womb!”

The bar was below the street level, tucked into an actual hole in the wall. Majid's shoulders relaxed at the sight of every empty table—in fact, the only patron in the entire bar was a short, strong-jawed man with nervous eyes, waiting in a circular booth at the very back.

“Luca!” cried Roberta, pulling Majid into the booth beside her.

“Nice to finally meet you,” said Majid. Luca startled a little at the size of Majid’s hand, and his own felt small and cold to Majid.

“It’s been too long,” said Roberta, elbowing Luca like they were brother and sister. “I was worried Majid would think you were my imaginary friend.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t met sooner,” said Luca. “I’ve been traveling, and finishing my book—”

“Yes, your book! He’s getting it published,” said Roberta. “They say it has movie potential!”

Luca blushed and ducked his head. “I don’t know about all that. I’m just happy it’s finally done.”

“What’s it about?” said Majid.

“A regular man in Rome, who’s unlucky in love and only has one friend,” said Luca, smiling shyly at Roberta. “Then aliens invade the Earth and everything changes.”

“Aliens?” said Majid, blinking rapidly.

“Luca _loves_ aliens,” said Roberta. “That’s how we became friends! We would ride around on our bikes and try to fly, like E.T. We nearly killed ourselves!”

“Oh yes, many times,” said Luca. “All of the other children in our town were afraid of E.T., they called him ugly, a monster, but Ro and I, we saw E.T. as our brother, didn’t we? Trapped on this planet, surrounded by terrible children—”

“I liked Gertie,” said Roberta, playfully swatting his arm. “Remember when we found that book that said that E.T. wasn’t a boy or a girl, but _both_? Oh, my head was spinning for weeks.”

“I think we watched it a thousand times,” said Luca. “And cried every time.”

“Yes we did,” said Roberta. She squeezed Luca’s hand with a warm, fond smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

Luca returned her gaze, and instantly burst into tears.

“I fucked up,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Ro.”

“Is he okay?” whispered Majid.

“What’s wrong?” said Roberta, patting Luca’s shoulder. Luca held his head in his hands and mumbled, “I saw your parents.”

Roberta sharply pulled her hand away. “You _what_?”

Luca took a deep breath. “I went home last month for my brother’s wedding. You know how it is, if you don’t invite the whole town they’ll just crash it—”

“Wait, Giorgio got married?” said Roberta. “She’s too good for him.”

Luca chuckled. “He married _Antonia Ferruci_.”

Roberta gasped and covered her mouth. “ _He’s_ too good for _her_!”

Majid felt like he was eavesdropping on a conversation in code. “Who is this?” he said.

“She was _la grande bellezza_ of our school,” shuddered Roberta. “She made our lives hell. I still have nightmares about her!”

“Really?” said Majid. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“If you say her name three times, she’ll come through your mirror,” said Luca. “But karma has caught up to her—she and Giorgio will make each other _miserable_. She threw a glass of wine at his head during the _reception_.”

“I’m a little sorry I missed this,” said Roberta. She shuddered a little, and reached for Majid’s knee under the table. “What about my parents?”

“It was your mother, really,” said Luca. “Your father was . . . occupied . . .”

“Drinking, you mean,” scoffed Roberta.

“She grabbed me, Ro, I couldn’t get away from her,” said Luca. “She kept hugging me and kissing my cheeks and saying how happy she was to see me—it was awful. Then she asked about _you_.”

“What exactly did she say?” groaned Roberta.

“‘How is she?’” gulped Luca. “‘Have you seen her lately?’”

“You don’t have to change it, Luca, she said, ‘ _he,_ ’ didn’t she?”

Luca vehemently shook his head. “She said ‘she,’ every time. I completely blanked out and just stared at her so she had to repeat herself a couple of times.”

Majid put his arm around Roberta and rubbed her shoulder as she squeezed his knee so tight he could feel her nails digging into his jeans.

“I said you were well, that you were sharing an apartment with your boyfriend, and then . . . I panicked.”

“What do you mean, you _panicked_?” said Roberta. “You didn’t tell her—”

“Oh no, nothing about _that_ ,” said Luca. “I said you had a good job managing a Moroccan restaurant that, thanks to your guidance, recently earned its first Michelin star.”

“ _Mioddio_ ,” gasped Roberta. “That will be news to Mahmoud.”

“And the first thing I could recall about Majid is that he’s Dutch, so I said your boyfriend was the heir to a tulip fortune.”

Majid burst out laughing, and Roberta lightly smacked his knee.

“She must have known you were full of shit,” she groaned.

“No! I swear she didn’t!” said Luca. “She kept saying how happy she was for you, and then she asked if I’d give you her number—your mother has a smartphone, Ro.”

“My mother does _not_ have a smartphone,” scoffed Roberta. “Where would she get one? The goat farm?”

“Things have changed in our town,” said Luca. “It’s slow, of course, but it’s happening. She made me promise to give it to you, I said I couldn’t promise you’d take it, but—"

He slid his phone towards Roberta. She blanched a bit before picking it up, but with grim eyes and tightened lips, she texted herself the number, then shoved the phone back to Luca like it had burned her.

“Enough of that,” said Roberta. “Tell me you have pictures of Antonia Ferruci’s wedding dress.”

Luca sighed with relief as he thumbed through his phone. “It was terrifying, Ro. Her train was too long for the church. They couldn’t close the doors.”

“Are those _puffed sleeves_?” gasped Roberta. “Look at this, Majid. Of course this girl would try to look like the Princess Diana of our boring little town.”

“She almost knocked out the priest,” said Luca. “Between the veil and the sleeves? No peripheral vision.”

“It’s . . . something,” offered Majid. “You would look beautiful in a dress like this, Roberta. You’re always gorgeous in white. _Molto bellissima_.”

Roberta blushed. Luca met Majid’s eyes with a warm smile.

“I agree,” he beamed. “And Roberta would’ve made it down the church steps without taking out the flower girl.”

* * *

Majid thought the night had gone well, even though the walk back to their apartment building was long and crowded with people leaving the market. Majid stared down anyone who looked twice at Roberta—even if he wasn’t sure they’d looked at all—but Roberta was quiet until they entered the apartment that had once been hers, and was now theirs.

“I’m really tired,” she announced, kicking off her heels. “Is it okay if we just go to bed?”

“Uh, sure. That’s fine,” said Majid. “I’m tired too.”

They got into bed like they did every night, but when Majid automatically pulled Roberta into his chest, she turned away.

Things were off for the next couple of days. Roberta seemed distant and a little sad. She’d lifelessly returned his embraces and resisted anything more than a peck on the cheek since the market.

Majid wasn’t sure what to do. He decided to surprise her by picking up dinner from her favorite Chinese place on his way home from work. Roberta was already home, staring sadly at her phone, which she quickly shoved away when Majid walked in the door.

“That smells good,” she said. Majid helped her set the table.

“So,” said Majid, unsure of where to start. “Christmas is in three days, yeah? Do you want to do anything?”

Roberta scoffed. “What, like go to Midnight Mass?”

Majid wasn’t sure what that was—did the Christians in Utrecht do that? He didn’t think so. They had their Sinterklaas and Christmas breads and biscuits, and old American Christmas movies dubbed in Dutch on TV. As kids, Majid and Hamza would stay up late to watch _Home Alone_ every year, with the volume turned low so Baba wouldn’t hear.

“Do you usually do that?” he asked.

“Oh, _tesoro_ , I was just teasing. You know, this is the first Christmas since I moved to Rome that I won’t be working. Business was always good on the corner on Christmas. Lots of lonely men and bored husbands sneaking away from their families. And they’d always throw in extra cash!”

Majid swallowed roughly and stabbed an egg roll with his fork. He didn’t judge Roberta for her past life, but he still didn’t like thinking about it.

Roberta shook her head. “I’m sorry. This time of year . . . it always gets to me. No matter how much time goes by . . . I still feel like an alien at Christmas.”

“Even with me?” said Majid softly.

Roberta beamed at him, and stroked his cheek. “Never with you,” she said. “Just Christmas coming, seeing Luca . . . brings back a lot of memories. But lots of people get sad around Christmas, it’s nothing to worry about.”

Majid returned her smile, but he wasn’t convinced.

“What could we do on Christmas that will make you happy?” he said. “Even if it’s nothing at all. We could just have a normal day.”

Roberta’s eyes filled with grateful tears. “My love, nothing would make me happier than spending the day with you. We could split a bottle of wine and watch some old movies—some _good_ movies.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Majid. He pulled her into a kiss and sighed with relief when she kissed him back, losing himself to the safe and peaceful world that only he and Roberta occupied. He didn’t even realize that his phone was ringing on the table.

“ _Tesoro_?” said Roberta, waking him from his reverie. “It’s Tarik.”

Majid blinked rapidly at the picture of his little brother eating gelato flashing on his screen.

Tarik was a true child of the smartphone era, did he even know it could make calls?

“He probably sat on his phone,” said Majid, reaching for Roberta again, but the phone blared insistently.

“Answer it, just in case,” said Roberta.

Majid rolled his eyes and accepted the call. Before he could say anything, his brother said, “Majid? Are you there?” and the fear in his voice made Majid’s blood run cold.

He jumped up as Tarik rattled off a story faster than Majid could follow—Mama had fallen in the kitchen, they were going to the hospital, Baba was _crying_ , how soon could he come home—

“Are you okay?” said Roberta.

“Something’s wrong with Mama,” said Majid, his heart racing as the truth of it dawned on him. “I have to go back to Utrecht.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So he just _left_?” said Mahmoud. The shawarma stand had been far less busy in the week leading up to the holidays, and Roberta couldn’t help but unload the events of the past evening on Mahmoud while he chopped up cucumbers for his tabbouleh.

“He texted that he didn’t want to wake me,” said Roberta, anxiously fiddling with the buttons on the credit card reader. “He must have booked the flight after I fell asleep. He was on the phone a long time. I shouldn’t have gone to bed, maybe he wanted to ask me to go with him—”

“Hmm, I think you got lucky there,” said Mahmoud. “Taking a holiday in Utrecht? in the _winter_? No thanks.”

“He probably doesn’t want me around his family,” said Roberta. “He’s been so touchy about being in public with me lately. It’ll be easier for him if I’m not there. I don’t know what his mother thinks about me, but I know his father hates me.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” shrugged Mahmoud. “ _I_ hate everyone, but you’re my favorite.”

Roberta struggled to hold back tears. “I know it’s silly, but I was looking forward to my first Christmas with someone . . . having some happy Christmas memories, for once."

“Oh dear,” said Mahmoud, awkwardly patting Roberta’s shoulder as she covered her face with her hands. “Don’t worry, angel. Here’s what you’ll do. My sister-in-law—you know, Pietro’s mother? She always invites me to Christmas dinner. She makes enough food to feed the whole country, and there’s so many lights and decorations and kids running around screaming from all the sugar that you’ll want to throw up, but it’s fun!”

“That sounds nice,” sniffled Roberta. “Thank you.”

Mahmoud smiled kindly, then scrunched up his nose. “What’s that buzzing?”

“Oh! My phone!” said Roberta. Majid was calling her. “He couldn’t have landed this early— _tesoro_? Are you on the plane?"

“Are you crying, _habibti_?” crackled Majid’s voice. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, Mahmoud is—chopping onions,” said Roberta. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the gate, but I rebooked my flight. I’m not leaving until this afternoon.”

“Oh,” said Roberta. 

Majid took a deep breath. “I booked you a ticket. I know I should’ve asked first, but when I got to the gate I couldn’t . . . the lady at the counter was really nice, even got us seats together—”

“You want me to go with you?” said Roberta.

Majid sighed with such heaviness that Roberta wished she could hold him through the phone. “I _need_ you to go with me,” he said. “Mama is really sick. Baba is a mess. I know this isn’t the Christmas you were hoping for—”

“We’ll be together. That’s all that matters,” said Roberta.

Majid gave her the flight information and told her he’d meet her at the gate.

Roberta blinked at her phone for a moment. “I guess I’m going to Utrecht.”

“You’d better leave now,” shuddered Mahmoud. “Getting to the airport will take longer this time of year. Security will be a nightmare!”

“Right,” said Roberta, an anxious pit suddenly forming in her stomach. “Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?”

“Of course, angel, go to your boxer!” said Mahmoud. “And dress warm! I hear it _snows_ in Holland.”

Roberta flung her arms around his bony shoulders and hugged him with all her might.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheeks. “Have a good time at Christmas dinner. Make sure you eat a lot!”

Mahmoud blushed and said, “If you see anyone from the Dutch national football team, tell them Mahmoud from the shawarma stand says they’re still banned.”

* * *

Roberta threw a bag together with the warmest clothes she owned, tossing Tarik’s candy on the top. As she redid her make-up to cover her tear tracks and puffy eyes, she remembered something she’d long since gladly forgotten.

She dug her passport out of the back of a drawer and with shaking hands, opened to her photo. A familiar stranger stared back, with sunken eyes and tightened lips, the expression of someone silently begging for rescue.

And beside it, a boy’s name. The name her parents had given her. 

“ _Cazzo_ ,” said Roberta.

She flung open Majid’s side of the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of his jeans that fit her, as well as a brown leather jacket that he rarely wore, preferring his black one. It was a little baggy on her, but warm. She owned one pair of white sneakers, which she might have borrowed from Luca years ago and never returned. The shoes were on the small side, but they would have to do.

Roberta had to force herself to look in the mirror—she expected to be repelled by the sight, but it wasn't so bad, especially with her wig. She still looked like herself—just a slightly different version. Her make-up was light, and lots of guys her age had long hair these days. Perhaps no one would give her any trouble.

* * *

Roberta made good time to the airport, but the line for security was long and filled with anxious travelers, crying infants, and bickering couples. Roberta fidgeted with the buttons of her jacket and tried not to watch how carefully the security agents were inspecting every traveler’s passport photo. By the time it was her turn in line, Roberta was seeing double and having trouble breathing.

“ _Dai_! Let’s go!” said the agent, a tall woman whose voice made Roberta jump. She did a double take at Roberta’s passport, scrutinizing Roberta’s face, then her picture, and back again like she was an exotic specimen at the zoo.

Roberta felt dizzy, and just lifting one foot in front of the other to step into the scanner was like walking through quicksand. And when the scanner beeped like Roberta was carrying radiation, it took all her strength not to crumple to the floor.

“Come here,” barked the woman, pointing to a spot in front of her. “Arms up.”

She ran a metal wand over Roberta’s arms and legs, then waved it multiple times across her groin, with louder noises of frustration each time.

Roberta stared straight ahead, her arms trembling and her legs threatening to collapse underneath her. The agent still had Roberta’s passport.

“Are you a man or a woman?” barked the agent.

Other passengers whirled around to look at Roberta, some tapping their feet impatiently, a few squinting their eyes as if trying to see through her clothes.

“Are you a man? Or are you a woman?” snapped the agent.

Roberta was shaking now, but she took a breath, looked the agent in the eye, and with as much calm as she could, said, “I’m a woman.”

The agent rolled her eyes, but handed over Roberta’s passport and nodded at her to leave, before barking “ _DAI_!” at the next terrified passenger.

Roberta clutched her bag like a life raft as she walked as fast as she could to the gate, tears blurring her vision all the way. Even through her tears, Roberta saw Majid’s eyebrows raise in surprise at the sight of her in jeans and a leather jacket, but his radiant smile made the anxious pit in her stomach evaporate.

Roberta crashed into Majid’s arms and buried her face into his neck.

“What’s wrong, _amore?”_ he said, squeezing her tight. “You missed me that much?"

“Yes,” she said. “You left without waking me, the security was awful—”

“Oh, did you get that short guy? He went through my entire bag _twice_ ,” said Majid. “Even when I said I was going home to see my sick mother. That just made him more suspicious.”

Roberta sniffled and told him what happened. Majid’s eyes burned with anger.

“We should complain,” he said. “I’ll go back and—”

“No, Majid. Don’t,” said Roberta. “It’s not worth it.”

Majid gritted his teeth. “It’s not right. We haven’t done anything wrong and they treat us like criminals. I should’ve been there to stand up for you—”

“ _Tesoro_ , it’s okay. I’ve been through worse, you know that,” said Roberta. “And I would go through security a hundred times to be here with you.”

“Oh, _habibti_ ,” said Majid, stroking her hair. “I should’ve brought you in the first place. It’s just—I haven’t been back in a _year_ —everything was so fucked up when I left—”

“We’ll just go together next time, yeah?” said Roberta. Majid nodded hopefully. “And no more leaving without telling me, even if I’m fast asleep.”

Majid looked around as if someone could be eavesdropping, then leaned in close.

“I wanted to wake you and kiss you good-bye,” he whispered. “But I knew as soon as I looked in your eyes I would never be able to leave you. I’m such a coward, I know.”

Roberta cradled his face in her hands. “No. Incurable romantic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Roberta's travel outfit](https://nkp1981.tumblr.com/post/635584239175417856/luca-marinelli-as-roberta-in-the-last-man-on)


	4. Chapter 4

The flight to Amsterdam and the train ride to Utrecht went by in a blur of whirring engines and pattering rain. Majid had booked a hotel room while waiting for Roberta to arrive at the airport—it wasn’t cheap, considering the time of year, but it was within walking distance of the hospital, and there was no way Majid was bringing Roberta to stay with him in the tiny bedroom he’d shared with Tarik.

Roberta had slept on his shoulder for most of the flight and nearly all of the train ride—Majid gently woke her as they approached their station, the closest stop to the hospital.

“It’s raining,” she said, blinking awake.

“It rains a lot here,” he shrugged. It had been pouring the night he left, but he left in such a hurry that he hadn’t even noticed he was soaked to the bone until he was halfway to Rome.

“Hmm,” sighed Roberta. “I was hoping for snow.”

“This is it,” gulped Majid. He and Roberta grabbed their bags and she followed him out of the station and into the street, which was covered in wreaths and Christmas lights that twinkled in the drizzling rain. Every storefront had a Christmas tree in the window, just like the last time Majid had seen his hometown. It was as if he hadn’t left at all—there had been a Christmas tree in the arena at his last fight, the one before he had to flee in the night with a broken hand and his mother’s tears and his father’s curses ringing in his ears. Just looking at the Christmas lights made his hand hurt in remembrance.

“ _Mioddio_ , I can’t read any of these signs,” said Roberta, shaking Majid out of his memories. “What’s ‘hospital’ in Dutch?”

Usually Majid was the one following Roberta, since she could find her way around the streets of Rome with her eyes closed and he risked getting lost if he went more than five blocks from their apartment building after dark.

“ _Ziekenhuis_ ,” said Majid. Roberta made a face. “It’s up here.”

Tarik met them in the hospital lobby. He looked exhausted, but he beamed at the sight of Roberta and threw himself into her arms.

“I didn't know you were coming!” he said. 

"Surprise," said Roberta. " _Sono qui_!"

"I missed you!"

“What about me?” said Majid, trying to keep his voice light to hide the growing panic in his chest.

Tarik looked like he was about to cry.

“Baba wants to talk to you,” he said. “Alone.”

Majid felt like he was being marched back to prison as he followed Tarik to Mama's hospital room. He’d forgotten how much he hated hospitals. Roberta sent him an encouraging smile, but nothing could stave the adrenaline of dread that coursed through Majid's body as he crossed the threshold into Mama's room alone.

Mama was sleeping peacefully, despite the machines beeping and whirring around her. She looked so much thinner than the last time Majid had seen her. 

Baba was waiting for him, sitting imperiously in the only chair.

“You’re finally here,” he said in Arabic.

“I got here as fast as I could,” said Majid.

“And you brought . . .” Baba waved his hand dismissively.

“Roberta. I brought Roberta,” said Majid.

“ _Roberta_ is not family,” said Baba.

“She is to me,” said Majid, staring at the floor.

Baba scoffed and Majid knew he was wishing that it was Hamza in front of him instead.

“Then you’re not staying at the apartment with us,” said Baba. “What would the neighbors say? They’ve only just stopped chattering about you getting arrested and dragged into the street.”

“We have a hotel room,” said Majid. “We’re not going to cause any trouble. I just want to see Mama.”

“If there’s one thing I can count on you to do, it’s cause trouble,” said Baba.

Majid closed his eyes and clenched his fists. It would be so easy to hit him, to knock the old man down, but then what? It had never changed anything before. If only he were better at expressing his words. If only . . . 

“Majid?” said Mama, in a frail, hopeful voice.

“I’m here,” said Majid, rushing to her side. “How are you feeling?”

“Just tired,” said Mama. “Very tired. My sweet boy. Have you eaten yet?”

“Don’t worry about me, Mama. Can I get you anything?”

“That’s still _my_ job,” she said. “I take care of _you_.”

“Okay, Mama,” said Majid. 

* * *

Mama wanted to rest and Baba busied himself with stalking her doctors, so Majid took Tarik and Roberta out to eat at a burger place that Tarik liked. The kid needed some comfort food—and clearly, so did Roberta.

Majid almost commented on the fact that he’d never seen her eat a burger _or_ fries for their entire relationship, but quickly thought better of it.

Tarik and Roberta were quiet as they demolished their food, and Majid found himself looking around the busy restaurant, full of shoppers piled into booths with their bags and kids celebrating the end of exams.

There were a few young guys in hoodies sitting nearby but texting rather than talking to each other. One looked up and caught Majid’s eye, and Majid’s heart stuttered to a stop. The kid looked exactly like Majid’s best friend, Adil.

Adil, who had nearly killed him or gotten him killed more times than he cared to admit.

Adil, who had called him slurs and insulted his masculinity as a way of showing what passed for affection.

Adil, who had both betrayed him and stuck his neck out for him in equal measure.

Adil, who was dead.

Majid hadn’t been there to protect him, because he’d fled for Italy. 

Suddenly, Majid's food was tasteless and his palms began to sweat. He was about to excuse himself, but then, as if the past itself was feeling mischievous and wanted to torture him specifically, a voice behind him said, “Majid? Is that you?”

Majid spun around to see the willowy beauty he’d been obsessed with for years—in fact, the last time he’d run into her was at another burger place with Tarik, and just the sight of her with another man had sent him into a jealous rage.

"Tessa," he said, awkwardly rubbing his head. "It's nice to see you."

It seemed like another life entirely. Just standing up to speak to her made his knees ache. Tessa seemed older now, her blonde hair was shorter, and she was pushing a red-headed baby in a stroller. 

“You too,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Good, good. Just visiting home with my girlfriend.” Switching to Italian, he said, “Roberta, this is Tessa, an old friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Tessa,” said Roberta, in a tone of voice that meant she didn’t believe Tessa was a “friend” for a second.

Tarik suddenly seemed very interested in his burger, scrutinizing each layer as if he were on an archaeological dig. 

“She says it’s nice to meet you,” said Majid. “She doesn’t speak Dutch.”

“I see,” said Tessa. “Well, I’m just meeting my fiancé, he works here. Next time you’re in town, we’ll have to catch up.”

“Of course,” said Majid, lying through his teeth. “Congratulations on—everything.”

“Thank you,” said Tessa. “Johanna was a bit of a surprise, but we’re very happy.”

The baby smiled and cooed at Majid as Tessa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked away.

Majid sat back down with a relieved sigh. Tarik and Roberta were both staring at him.

“What?” he said in Italian. “I couldn’t just ignore her!”

Roberta narrowed her eyes and pushed the rest of her fries onto Tarik’s plate. 

* * *

By the time they walked Tarik back to the hospital, and then checked into their hotel, Majid felt like it had been several days since he’d boarded the plane with Roberta. Every muscle in his body was exhausted, like he’d just fought twelve rounds without stopping. Roberta looked like she was about to fall asleep standing up.

They showered in silence and climbed into their usual sides of the unfamiliar bed. Roberta rested her head on Majid’s chest while he idly stroked her hair.

In the dark, he whispered, “My father thinks Mama is going to die. He blames me. For breaking her heart.”

“That’s not true,” said Roberta. “The doctors will figure out what’s wrong and they’ll fix it. She’ll be fine.”

“They couldn’t fix Hamza,” said Majid. “When she dies, my father will say that God is punishing him, again. Taking the wrong people, one by one, instead of me.”

Roberta shifted to look at him. Her blue-green eyes blazed in the dark.

“Then he’ll be wrong,” she said. “Do you hear me? He’s wrong about everything.”

Majid nodded and tilted her chin up to kiss her. She clung to his chest and closed her eyes, but it took Majid a long time to fall asleep to the sound of the street noise. It sounded like a mere imitation of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's not his kid, don't worry).


	5. Chapter 5

Roberta knew Majid hadn’t slept much. He had dark circles under his eyes and it took him twice as long as usual to get dressed before they set out for the hospital.

Roberta hadn’t slept well herself, and anxiety buzzed through her like a loose wire. The day before, she’d tried to hold Majid’s hand as they walked through the hospital to his mother’s room, and she’d assumed he’d been too caught up in his worries to notice. But now, as they walked along the canal towards the hospital, she tried to take his hand again, if only to keep from losing him in the crowds of Christmas Eve shoppers, and he fixed his gaze straight ahead and put his hands in his pockets.

Roberta put her own hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, which she’d paired with a modest cream-colored dress and short heels. Her hand naturally curled around her phone, but she yanked it back like it had stung her. So much was happening that she’d almost forgotten about the _other_ reason she felt like an anxious mess.

Why did Luca have to go to his idiot brother’s wedding?

“Maybe later, you could show me where you grew up,” said Roberta, trying to distract herself. “You know, your school, where you and your friends liked to hang out, where you learned to box—”

“You don’t want to see any of those places,” said Majid, his voice rougher than usual.

Roberta stopped in her tracks, startled, and Majid rubbed the bridge of his nose as he struggled for words.

“Please, Roberta, you don’t—this place—I wasn’t a good guy here.”

“You were a good guy,” said Roberta. “You just did some bad things to survive.”

Majid looked at Roberta with wide liquid eyes that turned into steel before her.

“We fly back tomorrow anyway,” he said. “We won’t have time.”

* * *

At Mama’s hospital room, Roberta wasn’t sure if she should wait in the hallway again—by the look on Majid’s father’s face, she was not welcome, but several doctors and nurses were pouring into the room and Roberta was swept in alongside them.

Majid’s face was inscrutable as he focused dagger eyes on his father. Did he even realize she was there? That she wasn’t sure if she was wanted?

“Roberta,” whispered Tarik, beckoning her to Mama’s bedside, while Majid, his father and the doctors and nurses conferenced in the corner of the room.

Roberta couldn’t understand a word they were saying, but Tarik was an expert eavesdropper.

“They’re saying she can go home today,” he said.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” said Roberta. Tarik shook his head.

“They don’t know what’s wrong, not for sure,” he said. “She got really sick once, in Morocco, when she was little, maybe that’s why her heart is getting weak now.”

“But she’s well enough to go home,” said Roberta. “She’s going to be okay, Tarik.”

Tarik didn’t look convinced. “She’ll need a lot of help. She won’t be able to do a lot of things like before.”

Roberta looked to the frail, sleeping woman in the hospital bed, machines beeping all around her. Mama’s eyes slowly opened and peered up at her, as if trying to piece something together.

“ _Ciao_ ,” whispered Roberta, hoping she wasn’t making an idiot of herself. She wondered if Mama saw her as some freakish Italian alien who had abducted her son and wouldn’t give him back.

Without taking her eyes off Roberta, Mama murmured something in Arabic.

“She wants to know if you cook,” said Tarik.

“Umm . . . not really,” said Roberta. “I never learned.”

“Your mother never taught you?” translated Tarik.

Roberta shook her head, and fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket. She had asked her mother to teach her how to cook, many times, but every time she’d been shooed out of the kitchen, told to play outside, what kind of boy was so interested in women’s work?

Mama watched her curiously, with a touch of sadness in her eyes.

“I’d like to learn, someday,” said Roberta. “The man I work for is a wonderful cook, and he’s shown me a few things. He’s also from Morocco.”

Tarik repeated everything to Mama, and she smiled at the mention of Morocco.

“So you like our food,” translated Tarik. “You and Majid have to come to dinner, tonight. The neighbors have been leaving all kinds of dishes. It will go to waste otherwise.”

“Of course,” said Roberta, with a tight smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

When the dinner plans were relayed to the other half of the family, Roberta wasn’t sure who looked more panicked, Majid or his father. From the sound of the ensuing conversation, it sounded like Majid’s father’s protests were quickly snuffed out, and Mama was not at all afraid to play the card of “I’m in the hospital, you will do what I say.”

Majid still looked terrified, but when Roberta tried to ask what was wrong, he pulled up his jacket collar and grunted that he was fine.

* * *

Majid was silent but Roberta could tell his mind was racing for the entirety of the tram ride to his family’s neighborhood. Their apartment building was a stack of identical grey blocks, without a single detail of charm or character, just like every other apartment building in the neighborhood, a sea of vast grey squares that blended into the grey sky above and the concrete below, with nothing green in sight.

Majid’s fists clenched as they approached the door, like he was getting ready for a fight. 

“I don’t have a key,” he explained. “Before I left, Baba changed the locks on me. Mama wouldn’t let me in—”

“It’s going to be okay,” said Roberta. “Just give them a chance.”

“Why? You won’t give _your_ parents a chance,” snapped Majid.

Roberta’s eyes narrowed, and Majid opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Tarik opened the door.

“Roberta!” he cried. “I want to show you my room.”

Tarik grabbed Roberta’s hand and she glared at Majid as the boy pulled her inside.

The apartment was small but cozy, with lots of family pictures all over the walls. Tarik’s bedroom had two twin beds, one of which was piled high with dirty clothes—and clean clothes, from the looks of it. The bag of candy that Roberta had brought for him from the Piazza Navona was already half empty.

“You’re using my old bed as a laundry bin?” said Majid.

Tarik shrugged. “And a bookshelf.”

“You two shared this room?” said Roberta.

Majid fixed his eyes on the floor and tightened his jaw. He had told her about his time in prison and running around with gangsters, but he was embarrassed about sharing a bedroom with his little brother? 

“Until Majid went to Italy,” said Tarik. 

“Yes, this is what tulip fortune money buys you,” said Majid, still staring at the floor.

Roberta started to smile, but remembered that she was still mad. She avoided Majid by studying the photos on Tarik’s walls, of all three brothers before Hamza got sick, from the looks of it.

Roberta hadn’t seen many pictures of Hamza. He was handsome, with an easy smile. In every photo, Hamza was grinning right at the camera, Tarik was shy and hiding behind one of his brothers, and Majid was stone-faced and staring past the camera, like he was waiting for someone to jump out of the shadows.

Roberta wondered if there were any pictures of her left at her parents’ house, or if it was easier for them to pretend to she never existed.

Which was more painful? Knowing for certain? Or never knowing for sure?

* * *

Majid’s father clearly had something he needed to get off his chest. Dinner had barely begun—and Mama hadn’t exaggerated, the neighbors had provided enough home-cooked dishes to feed the entire building—when Majid’s father muttered something and Majid squeezed his spoon with such force that Roberta was afraid it would snap in half.

Majid spoke calmly at first, but his father obviously knew exactly what buttons to push to make him enraged. Within a few moments they were on their feet, launching verbal attacks at each other like sucker punches.

Roberta slowly pulled out her phone and winked at Tarik. He nodded once, and began texting her under the table like a practiced professional.

_Baba wants Majid to move back here. He’s saying that since all the gangsters got killed, he’ll be safe here, he can get a job and help take care of Mama._

Roberta’s eyebrows rose to new heights as Majid's voice escalated in volume. 

_Majid says he can’t spend his life here. Baba says he needs to grow up and have a respectable life. Majid says he doesn’t want a respectable life._

Roberta felt the color drain from her face. Is _that_ what he thought of her? She barely heard Mama’s voice enter the fray.

_Now Baba is calling him a coward. Mama wants them to stop fighting._

That was enough for Roberta. She stood up and put her hand on Majid’s shoulder.

“Majid is _not_ a coward,” she said, nodding at Tarik to translate. “He’s brave and honest and kind. You’re very lucky to have him as your son. He’s a good man.”

Roberta looked Majid’s father right in the eyes and smiled her most dazzling smile. Majid’s father grimaced and muttered something under his breath—the exact same thing Majid did when he knew he’d lost an argument.

Mama beamed gratefully, while Majid just stared at Roberta with huge, unreadable eyes.

“You’re a good man,” she said quietly. 

The steel in his eyes turned back to liquid, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but could not find the words. The entire family stared at Roberta in silence for a moment before digging back into their food. 

Roberta sighed and sat back down. Another Christmas of feeling like an alien, this time one who couldn’t even speak the right language.

At least the food was good.

* * *

The rest of the dinner was a little tense but pleasant, with Roberta and Mama doing most of the talking with Tarik translating. Majid and his father stared daggers into each other, but were silent. Mama asked Roberta about her job, and expressed admiration for how she’d turned the shawarma stand around. Roberta encouraged Tarik to show off his English skills, and Mama was so impressed she applauded—Tarik was so shy about being smart, she explained, but he was so good with languages. 

“When he visited us, Tarik picked up Italian so quickly that people assumed he’d been studying it for years,” said Roberta.

Tarik blushed as he translated, and Mama dabbed proud tears from her eyes.

“You never told her that?” scolded Roberta,

“I thought they were just being nice!” said Tarik.

“You buy three scoops of gelato from the same stand every day, of course they’re going to be extra nice,” said Majid.

He nudged Roberta and tilted his head towards the door, like they were schoolmates ditching class rather than lovers visiting family. Roberta glared at him and he looked a little less eager to leave.

Finally, Mama yawned and struggled to stand up. Majid helped her while Roberta offered her arm for support. In the kitchen, Mama showed Roberta a carved wooden box covered in colorful geometric designs. She murmured something in Arabic and Majid translated.

“This is Mama's recipe collection, all her mother and grandmother’s recipes that she brought from Morocco,” he said. “She—she wants you to have it, once she . . . _Mama . . ._ ”

Majid murmured fondly to his mother and kissed her forehead. She shook her head at him and smiled, then nodded towards Roberta.

“She says it won’t be for a long time, _inshallah_ , but she’d like you to be able to cook our family’s food. And when Tarik meets a nice girl, you can share the recipes with her. Will you do that?”

Tarik's eyes grew three sizes and he audibly gulped.

“Of course,” said Roberta. “I’d be honored.”

Mama squeezed Roberta’s hand. “ _Shukran_ , Roberta.”

Tarik hugged Majid and Roberta good-bye and whispered, “Mama said I can visit you over the summer.”

“We’ll see what Baba says,” said Majid, as his father glowered at them from the couch.

Roberta winked at Tarik. “I don’t think he’ll have a choice.”

She waved at Majid’s father and said in her most charming tone of voice, “Thank you for a lovely evening!”

He acknowledged her with a scowl and a short wave.

Roberta smiled and swanned out of the apartment without waiting for Majid. She may not have won over his father, but she was still emerging victorious.


	6. Chapter 6

The tram station was a short walk away from the hotel, but the night air was much colder than in Rome. Roberta tightened her leather jacket around her and stuffed her hands in the pockets. She and Majid had not spoken for the entire tram ride, and the silence was thick and unpleasant. With every step, Roberta’s anger grew.

Finally, Majid stopped and said, “That wasn’t your best Christmas dinner, I’m sure. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Roberta. “This is actually much, much better than my usual Christmas. My knees don’t hurt at all, for starters—”

“Roberta—”

“None of my relatives called me names and slurs at dinner. None of my cousins beat me up, my mother didn’t make me cry because I asked _Babbo Natale_ for the wrong things _._ Oh, one Christmas I met _Babbo Natale,_ he told me to whisper in his ear what I wished for, and when I did, his face turned red and he jumped away like I was a _monster_ and said ‘Don’t _ever_ tell anyone that again.’ I was _five_.”

“What was your wish?” said Majid, in a sad, small voice.

“To be turned back into a girl,” said Roberta. “I thought he would help me, once he knew I’d been turned into a boy by mistake.”

“ _Habibti_ —”

“I think the worst one, though, was when I was nine, and I was picked to be Joseph in the nativity play. I cried and cried, I didn’t want to do it, and on the night of the play, I was so nervous and the fake beard on my face made me feel so _disgusting_ that I threw up all over the manger. Just missed baby Jesus.”

Majid’s eyes were solemn but he covered his mouth to stifle a wisp of a smile.

“Go on, it’s funny,” said Roberta. “Luca still thinks it was God answering his prayers. He begged for a miracle so he wouldn’t have to say his lines. He had _two_. Of course, my father beat the shit out of me afterwards, my mother wouldn’t speak to me for three days, and the other kids teased me about it until I left for Rome.”

Roberta was shaking now—she hadn’t meant to unload so many memories at once, but they’d been torturing her in silence since the night they’d met Luca. 

Majid sighed and stared down at his shoes. “I shouldn’t have said what I said, before,” he murmured. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to tell you what to do about your mother. If you don’t want to call her, I don’t blame you.”

“I appreciate that,” said Roberta coldly. “And I forgive you. Now, when were you going to tell me that all the gangsters you used to run with are dead?”

“What?” said Majid, eyes snapping up to meet hers.

“The gangsters are dead, so it’s safe for you to live here again, right? Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

“Easier?” said Majid. “I want to stay in Italy. I want to stay with _you_.”

Roberta scoffed and spun away from him. How stupid did he think she was? He didn’t tell her because he wanted to keep Utrecht as an out for himself, for when he got tired of her, tired of being with someone who was not of his world. And just like E.T., he would send her away, eventually, and go on with his life like she’d never been a part of it.

“Don’t play dumb, Majid. You could take care of your family, you could have this _respectable_ life—”

“Can you speak Arabic now?”

“ _You_ would be happier, with someone whose hand you can hold in public, someone you’re not embarrassed to bring home, who knows where you come from, and speaks the same language—someone like Tessa!"

“I don’t _want_ Tessa,” said Majid. He grabbed Roberta’s shoulders, but she barely felt it, only the heat of her rage.

“Why not? She has great tits and her ass looks fantastic in yoga pants, even after having a baby! Don’t you want that? A cute Dutch girl who can give you cute Dutch kids?”

“I felt _nothing_ until you,” shouted Majid. “Do you understand? I felt _nothing_ for her, not when I kissed her, not when I _fucked_ her, I only wanted her because she was everything a guy like me is _supposed_ to want. And I was so fucking thick I thought that meant it was real.”

He was shaking now, and his voice trembled like he was struggling not to cry. Roberta’s rage fled from her and she pulled him into her arms, murmuring soft apologies into his neck. He melted against her and pressed his forehead against her temple.

“I had no idea what was real,” said Majid. “It’s you. Only you.”

* * *

Roberta had taught Majid well since their first night together. Even though they were frantic to peel off each other’s clothes and tangle together on the hotel room's bed, he knew how to take his time now and not just race to the finish line. He worshipped every part of her until she was combusting at his slightest touch. She poured everything into kissing him—all her anxiety and anger—until there wasn’t even a shadow darkening her mind, and he kissed her back with the fervor of seeking oxygen. Sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around his waist and her nails digging into his shoulders, his wide hands roaming between her face and her back, Roberta finally felt that sense of being safe, of being home, that she’d been missing since they landed in Utrecht. She gasped into Majid’s ear as he mouthed at her neck, intensity building and building until she collapsed back down onto the bed, pulling Majid along with her, and they tumbled over the edge one after the other.

Roberta caressed Majid’s hair as he nuzzled into her chest, trying to catch his breath.

She was the first to break the blissful silence, whispering, “ _Ti amo_ , Majid.”

“I love you too,” he said, shifting up to kiss her.

Somewhere outside, distant bells tolled. Roberta had no idea how much time had passed. Surely it was past midnight.

“Can this be our new Christmas tradition?” she said. “Just this part.”

Majid chuckled and kissed a line along her collarbones.

“No more traveling?” he said, pretending to be shocked, but his dimples gave him away. 

“Oh, we can travel,” said Roberta. “From the bed to the shower. Maybe to the kitchen.”

“No, that’s too far,” said Majid, flipping them over. “We’ll just have to starve.”

Roberta smiled and closed her eyes, her head tucked into her favorite spot on his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

“ _Buongiorno_ , _bellissima_ ,” whispered Majid. “Time to go home.”

Roberta sighed and stretched her arms. It was still dark outside. In a daze they packed their bags and headed for the train station.

There were a few late night revelers wandering through the streets, singing Christmas songs at the top of their lungs. The sun was starting to rise over the canal.

Majid took Roberta’s hand and said, “We’ll be back in time to have that bottle of wine and watch a movie. You know, I’ve never actually seen _E.T._ ”

“Blasphemy! We’re watching it,” said Roberta, clutching his arm. “I was just thinking, some Roman sun might be good for your mother. Maybe when Tarik comes for the summer, we can convince your parents to visit for a few days.”

Majid blinked rapidly in shock. “My parents didn’t scare you?”

“Of course not,” scoffed Roberta. “I’ve known men like your father all my life, I didn’t let him get to me. And your mother was very kind.”

“She practically forced her recipes on you,” said Majid. “You know I don’t expect a woman to cook for me, I’m not like that—”

“At the hospital, I told her that I wanted to learn,” shrugged Roberta.

Majid shook his head in disbelief. “I was sure that if you saw where I came from, you wouldn’t want me anymore,” he said quietly.

“Nothing could make me not want you, _amore_ ,” said Roberta, caressing Majid’s cheek. They gazed in each other’s eyes for a moment, until something white caught on Majid’s eyelash.

Roberta gasped. “My first snow!”

Soft and heavy flakes gently grazed her hair, spinning in lazy patterns before they touched the ground. 

“Can we take a picture before we go?” said Roberta.

Majid stood up straight and put his arm around her shoulder. Roberta held up her phone, and Majid kissed her cheek as she took the picture.

Roberta had never seen herself looking so happy. Her cheeks were cherry red, her eyes sparkled despite the early hour and her smile rivaled the brightness of the rising sun. 

Without taking a moment to talk herself out of it, Roberta texted the picture to the newest number in her phone, with the message, “ _Buon natale da tua figlia_.”

A weight lifted from her shoulders, Roberta beamed at Majid.

“Now I’m ready,” she said. “The snow is beautiful but . . . I’m cold!”

“ _Sono qui!_ ” said Majid, rushing to sweep her up in his arms. Snow spotted the sleeves of her leather jacket and Majid brushed a few snowflakes out of her hair.

“What did I tell you?” he said. “You always look gorgeous in white.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I’m at flapperfromthefuture on tumblr and happy to flail about nice things that we can’t have!


End file.
